A Chance Meeting
by Princess Shania
Summary: Morse goes to London to use up his leave. He never expected to meet the world's only consulting detective. Contains Morselock! Apologies for the possible OOCness.


**For my best friend, Emerald Has Been Cumberbatched! It's her Birthday today and this Morselock is for her. Mistakes are mine, OOCness is mine, characters are not mine and Sherlock and Endeavour are not mine . **

* * *

Sherlock didn't know who this man was that sat at the table in front of his, but he found him oddly fascinating, though all he could see was a mop of thick, light brown hair.. The stranger was reading a newspaper, that brown hair moving as he turned his head, its owner engrossed in whatever drivel the media had printed that day.

It shouldn't be interesting.

The brown-haired man suddenly placed down his paper, swiftly turning to meet Sherlock's turquoise-coloured eyes with his own, Sherlock noted, deep blue eyes.

"Can I help you?" the stranger demanded.

At a loss as to what he could say, Sherlock simply stared.

The man frowned, a mixture of concern and annoyance decorating his features. "I've felt you staring at me for the past five minutes."

"Four and a half."

"What?"

"I've been looking at you for four and a half minutes. Not five."

Sapphire blue eyes were briefly covered by eyelids with long, dark brown eyelashes and when they were unveiled, Sherlock could see approval in them, before the stranger stood and walked over to his table. "My name's Morse. Endeavour Morse. Detective Constable with the Thames Valley Police."

"I'm Holmes. Sherlock is my first name, and the name family, most acquaintances and friends refer to me as. Consulting Detective."

"Ah," Morse said, sitting in the chair opposite to Sherlock. "You work for the police?"

"God, no, I'd never work _for_ them. _With_ them, yes."

Morse raised an eyebrow. "You sound as though you dislike the police."

"I neither like nor dislike them."

"Mmm. You know, I'm impressed by you, Holmes."

"You're hardly the first to say that."

"You're quick and unapologetic of who you are. Not many are like that."

"Are you?"

"Yes." Morse admitted, a proud smile lifting a corner of his mouth.

"Makes a refreshing change. Most seem to think it odd."

"Why were you looking at me?" Morse asked.

"I have no idea. You just caught my eye for some reason."

Morse's blue eyes gleamed. "I'm glad I did."

"You're hardly the first to say that, either."

Morse really did smile then, making Sherlock's chest squeeze for a split second. "Thames Valley. That's Oxford way, isn't it?"

"Yeah. They sent me away for a few weeks, so I thought I'd visit London." Morse explained.

"It's a bit boring at the moment. Criminals seem to have all gone on holiday or something.."

"They're never away for long." Morse reminded him.

"I just wish they'd hurry up."

Morse leaned forward, about to speak, and was interrupted by his phone ringing. Extracting it from his pocket and frowning at the name of the caller, he looked over at Sherlock. "I have to take this." He took a serviette and dug a pen from his coat pocket, scrawling on the delicate paper. "This is my number. Ring up if you want."

Then he was gone.

* * *

Sherlock did want. He wanted very much to ring this man, hear his voice and to see him again. Morse was vexingly fascinating.

Finally, he lost patience, picked up his phone and dialled. When Morse answered, he sound tired and Sherlock imagined him tousle-haired and couldn't stop a smile spreading on his features.

"It's five in the morning, what do you want?" Morse asked.

"I don't want anything." Sherlock admitted. "I just-" he trailed off. He didn't know _why _ he wanted so badly to call Morse and said as much to the half-asleep man.

"Let's just meet up in a few hours." Morse suggested.

"I'd like that."

* * *

Morse found Sherlock amazing. He was so different from anyone and he liked that quality. Despite the early morning phone call, he was glad to hear from Sherlock and now, watching him talk about all his cases, how he'd started, watching the consulting detective watch him as he talked about his own cases, smiling at Sherlock's quick, sharp remarks...

He really liked this man.

When it was time for them to part, he briefly touched Sherlock's shoulder as he said 'goodbye'. Just a single, unsure touch, but the other male looked down at him as though he'd outright hugged him.

Morse ignored this and wondered, as he walked away, if Sherlock had liked the contact.

* * *

Sherlock had long ago promised himself never to fall in love. love was distracting, love was ridiculous, love was overrated, but he'd asked Mummy, Mrs. Hudson and even Mycroft, why he felt this strange swooping sensation with Morse and all their answers had been the same.

"Oh, you're in love!"

"Oh, Sherlock! It's love!"

"You're in love, brother."

How could it be love? Love was what he felt for his mother, love was what he felt for John, for Mrs. Hudson. This was a newer, stranger feeling than that.

"Haven't you ever heard of sexual love?"

"Of course i have! I have very little interest in sex, John." Sherlock reminded icily. "You know that."

"Well, maybe not the sex, but the..you know, romantic part of love." John explained.

"I've no interest in romance."

"Look," John said, losing his patience. "I'm not saying you want to shag his brains out and I'm not saying you want to spend evenings snuggled up with Morse underneath a blanket."

Sherlock was surprised by how nice the latter of John's statement sounded.

"But," John went on, "the feelings _are _ there."

"How do I stop them?"

"You can't stop the feelings." John sighed. "You can only act on them."

"What if I choose to ignore them? Perhaps they'll go away."

"I wouldn't recommend doing that, mate. It weighs you right down, ignoring those feelings."

* * *

It didn't take long for Sherlock to discover that John was right. He couldn't _not_ think of Morse and when he did, he felt those strange feelings flare up and it finally got to the stage where he couldn't bear anymore and one day placed his hand near Morse's.

This was a flirting technique John had displayed to him many times whilst trying to get a woman to date him. If the woman was interested, she would move her own hands subconciously towards John so that their fingertips would almost be touching. It wasn't always successful. When it wasn't, the woman's hands would stay exactly where they were or she would move them back.

It worked.

Morse was busy describing the people on the Force that he knew, while his fingers moved closer and closer to Sherlock's, eventually stopping, just brushing the consulting detective's knuckle.

Sherlock could hardly breathe.

Morse didn't seem to notice even after he'd stopped talking. Sherlock kept waiting, waiting for Morse to look down and raise an eyebrow in surprise, maybe even smile like the ladies John tried to woo did. Morse didn't. Though, Sherlock could see a glitter in his eyes that hadn't been there before.

At closing time, Morse placed his whole hand over Sherlock's, finally a smile gracing his lips. "Have you had a good evening?"

"It was good." Sherlock answered.

Morse's smile grew. "It was." He agreed.

There was a tense silence and Morse cleared his throat, a look of apprehensive curiosity appearing in his deep blue orbs. He licked his lips and brought his face near Sherlock's.

They were close. So close. Sherlock couldn't stop himself from closing the gap and that was when their lips met. The kiss was warm, deep and felt completely natural. Sherlock's heart was beating so loudly, he was half-sure that Morse could hear it too. The moment didn't last long, but when they broke apart, it felt like it had gone on for an eternity.

Throughout the kiss, Morse's hand was still covering Sherlock's. Now it left to graze against the consulting detective's jawline. Sherlock reached to Morse's wrist, feeling the man's pulse, suddenly feeling glad that the criminal class had been so lax all that time ago, that they remained so dormant now.

To miss this man would have been a crime in itself.


End file.
